Nick's Ramblings
by TohruHonda44
Summary: Nick looks back on all that happened with Gatsby and forms his own conclusions/comes to an understanding.


**After reading The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald I knew I had to write **_**something**_** in honor of it. Perusing other fanfictions I noticed many people had written some kind of conclusion to the book. Honestly the only kind of yearn I felt after reading it was for some kind of wrap up. And so this came to be. Keep in mind that some of this is my interpretation of everything that goes on. Thank you.**

**The Great Gatsby belongs to F. Scott Fitzgerald as mentioned.**

**This story however, belongs to me.**

-

As I look out into the harbor, I realize that my time spent in West Egg was a time I shall most likely never forget.

And yet I also acknowledge that I only had so much of a taste of it- a sampling of a life of endless parties and free-flowing champagne and emotions. It was as if I was in a constant motion, wandering aimlessly from day to day, week to week, month to month.

In the midst of all this was Jay Gatsby. Cool, calm, and committed were the best words to describe him. His only weakness it seemed was Daisy Buchanan who in fact was a very great weakness indeed. Like a hummingbird she flitted into his life and continued to suck at the very nectar of his being until the day he died.

That shining green light at the end of Daisy's dock which had provided him with so much hope and promise had ultimately been tugging and coaxing him to his eventual ruin, only to continue to blink even afterwards as if beckoning to another victim.

In the mansion he left behind remains a warm feeling of passion and fortitude all molded into one overwhelming presence- as if he had never passed on. I often found myself pacing the halls just after the dewy drops of rain gently kissed the air and perceived a sort of belonging.

I am normally not the type to become overly sentimental. But with Gatsby it was different. Here I had found someone I truly could respect and admire. I only wish that others had grown to know him as I did.

After his death, and after I moved away from West Egg and Long Island all together, I distanced myself from the people I once knew- namely the Buchanan's and Jordan. However I did once visit Daisy and Tom several years after Gatsby's death. I could hardly refuse, after all Tom _did _promise that I would be their first guest in their new home after they returned from Europe.

Nevertheless I can't say it was an enjoyable experience. Through it all I had held out a shred of hope that at the very least my cousin would look back on the whole ordeal and feel some kind of regret or sorrow imbedded in the deep ethers of her soul. But when she greeted me from the very same white couch that she was laying in on the first day I was introduced to Jordan, I realized I was mistaken.

"Nick, darling, it has just been too long! Where have you been hiding?" Her various necklaces and bangles clanking together served as background noise for her melodic voice as she reached up for me to kiss her on the cheek.

"Oh, the same old places. Naturally they're all so desolate without you there." We had this odd joking way of going back and forth you see, as if we were lovers or something of the like. In actuality we barely knew each other- really _knew_ each other I mean.

"And how have you and Tom been getting along?" This was part of the routine- I ask her of Tom…

"Marvelously Nick, just marvelously."…and she always replies that they're doing marvelously or gorgeously or some other fanciful word that happens to float to the top of her head.

After that there was a rare pregnant pause as if she was waiting for Jordan to say her bit even though of course she was not present.

A period of time after not receiving any letters from Jordan Baker, I fell into an odd state. I can't say I missed her company, and yet I also can't deny that when we were together it was as if a part of me was whole somehow.

I soon grew to realize, however, that this separation between us was for the better on both sides. I acknowledged that she was of a different sphere- I sphere I neither belonged in nor cared to belong in. As for her, I wasn't exciting, or fast-paced enough to keep up with her effervescent lifestyle.

Daisy seemed to sense that I was thinking about Jordan as she remarked absently, "She hasn't visited in quite a long while." She twisted her wedding ring around a couple of times. "On some golf tour or something…"

"Has Daisy been talking your ear off again Nick?" Tom emerged from the kitchen carrying a glass, of liquor no doubt, and wearing his polo uniform. It was so clean looking that it was a wonder he ever even played in it.

"Hardly- mostly admiring your new home." At the time I thought a change of subject might be for the better.

Tom perked up at that remark. He very much liked to talk about his money. "Well you know Nick it's not quite as marvelous as that crook Gat-

He quickly cut off the sentence there, clearing his throat awkwardly. I looked at Daisy with the hope of seeing some kind of reaction but all she did was twist her ring again.

Another uncomfortable pause ensued. Daisy was the first to break the silence.

"Tom, why don't you be a dear and show Nick around a little? Give him the grand tour."

Eager to put his previous blunder behind him he gave a forceful nod to this. "That's an idea. Why don't I change out of this uniform here and then we can head out. Keep Nick company while I'm gone will you Daisy?"

With that he sauntered back up the huge spiral staircase, his shoes clicking softly.

A door slammed. Before I knew it, Daisy moved closer to me as if she had some secret to tell.

"The garden here is just so beautiful! Pammy has her own little patch with flowers and she couldn't be happier."

That surprised me. It hardly seemed as though either of them had paid attention to their daughter much.

"Yes she feels quite at home here. And the shopping is _fantastic_! Tom spoils me so, buying me three new dresses just this week!"

With a glitter in her eyes she told me of all the new friends she met and all the lavish soirees she attended. I nodded in all the right places but quickly grew bored of this mundane small talk of hers. Clearly I was wrong- she and Tom would always be superficial people.

The familiar click of Tom's shoes resounded through the great entryway once more and I politely excused myself from Daisy's company to attend to him. As I turned to leave she clutched one of my hands and held it up to her cheek in a peculiar sort of gesture but I turned my back to her and pulled my hand away noticing it to be slightly damp near the pinkie. Tears.

-

So long ago that meeting seems now. Their voices meld deep into my memory, tucked away in a corner I occasionally visit while daydreaming or while absentmindedly doing various chores.

But one thing sticks out in my reveries- so much so that it's almost impossible to ignore.

It is my friend Jay Gatsby's voice set against the backdrop of his glorious estate and Klipspringer's fingers, playing a melody on the piano with only the solitary lamp to guide his way.


End file.
